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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714252">Our Dearest, Areum.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricated/pseuds/apricated'>apricated</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Breaking Up &amp; Making Up, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feelings, Happy Ending?, Jung Wooyoung-centric, Kang Yeosang-centric, London, Love, M/M, Post-Break Up, Regret, puppy, they have a puppy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:08:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricated/pseuds/apricated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mutual agreement, Yeosang and Wooyoung break up. Yet the decision of who gets to keep their lovable dog, Areum, leads them to spend more and more time together, reconsidering their fate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our Dearest, Areum.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The breeze of the late November days enveloped around Yeosang as he pulled the sides of his blazer tighter around him, attempting to keep himself warm. He had just left Wooyoung’s home – the man who, two hours ago, was still officially his – cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling with a newfound interest of solitude.</p><p>It had been mutual for them to end things. As the months passed, their relationship had contorted into the friendship it had once been. Waking up in Wooyoung’s ivory sheets without him caressing his cheek began to be more familiar, and by now, eating breakfast in his kitchen in silence as they watched TV was basically a routine for the two.</p><p>They hadn’t ignored each other; instead, it was just an unspoken declaration that they mutually felt more comfortable with friendly hugs rather than timid kisses amidst the dimly lit bedroom of Wooyoung Jung sometime at seven pm.</p><p>Tears weren’t gracing the periphery of him irises. Maybe his did have some, but he hadn’t noticed. As he strolled leisurely back to him house, serene ballads echoing in him white earphones, Yeosang felt an emotion unfamiliar to him – an emotion which he could not place a label on in that particular moment.</p><p>In that second of questioning him feelings, Yeosang Kang waved the emotion off, thinking it was just a sentiment of wonder, a curiosity of what him life now as a single man would hold.</p><p> </p><p>_</p><p> </p><p>In contrast to his warm house, where the Christmas decorations were plastered on extremely early (Wooyoung had done this since the first year of their relationship – this had been their fourth), his apartment was pretty much vacant. Whereas there were a couple of mahogany wooden frames ornated on the white grey walls, it didn’t hold as much furniture as Wooyoung’s did.</p><p>Perhaps this was one of the reasons Yeosang spent so much time over at his.</p><p>His residence was situated in London’s Little Venice, a medium-sized alabaster tinted home with modern decorations. He hadn’t invested much ever since he moved, keeping most of what he was given from the previous landlord, and the few appliances gifted by his parents.</p><p>In his defence though, university had kept him quite busy, so he hadn’t had the time to make that long trip to an IKEA or a Dunelm as he would have liked in his first year. Even now, a year and a half after he had graduated, he hadn’t invested in making his home nicer looking.</p><p>Yeosang entered his home with a long sigh, placing his keys gently on the coffee table in his living room as he glanced at the ceiling. His textbooks were taking over the kitchen table, and he knew Wooyoung’s beige coat was draped over one of the chairs in the living room. Somehow, that brought a sentiment of loneliness in his chest, making him ponder over his decision.</p><p>He had been the one to bring up the discussion.</p><p>A timid knock on his residence door opened up the sight of him now ex-boyfriend: smiling, although the large darkness beneath his ebony coloured eyes told him he had spent the past few hours of the afternoon studying. He had welcomed him with a breezy hello, hoarse voice signalling he also hadn’t had any drink for a while.</p><p>Luckily, he had been prepared.</p><p>“I brought wine,” he had spoken softly, and Wooyoung had hummed, walking behind him as his right palm rested on his lower back, guiding him around the home. He had paused then, holding his breath to reconsider what he was about to do. Yet, when the touch didn’t linger for longer than three seconds, he exhaled gently, resuming his ‘plan’.</p><p>“Thank you. What brings you around?” Wooyoung had questioned – a question which he would utter with a goofy smile until the third year of their relationship. Back then, Yeosang would smile and reply with a teasing: ‘to annoy you’. Now, he just put the bag of wine on the kitchen table before answering:</p><p>“To discuss something.”</p><p>Yeosang wasn’t stupid. Of course he had noticed Wooyoung’s eyes blink – resigned and laced with an evident sparkle of exhaustion which he was trying to hide – as if he knew what was about to happen. In that moment, Wooyoung had looked disappointed, maybe even remorseful, but he had nodded without any word, heading straight to his cupboard to take two glasses out.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“<em>Us.</em>” Was his short, concise reply.</p><p>“Alright.” Wooyoung murmured. He had headed straight to the couch, waving his hand for the elder to follow. Yeosang gulped, before walking behind him, so many words and phrases left unspoken in that rustic kitchen, a pulse of his heart lingering on the cupboard that he had extracted the glasses from.</p><p>(What he hadn’t noticed was that Wooyoung’s grip on the glasses he was holding had tightened, fingers reddening at the tip as his heart sank within the translucent ocean of his psyche.)</p><p> </p><p>_</p><p> </p><p>A bark echoed within the apartment, Yeosang’s shimmering eyes flicking on the source of the noise. Ivory fluff appeared in his vision, and then a pair of warm eyes, their soft gaze concentrated on him. Areum, his dog, was looking around him, as if to observe something.</p><p>As if looking for <em>someone. </em></p><p>“Oh, Areum, my love.” Yeosang’s voice trembled as he picked the dog up, caressing its soft fur to calm the poor thing. “I’m afraid you won’t see your dad as much as you used to.”</p><p>In that millisecond, Yeosang realised that the theory of dogs cognising human emotions held a tinge of truth in it, for Areum edged closer to him, head looking up: understanding. Only then did Yeosang feel weak, a sob escaping his lips as the dog blinked.</p><p>“I let him go, Areum. I let him leave.” He spoke, tears cascading down his cheeks as his vision retreated back to the ceiling. Silence ensued in the residence, and Yeosang could swear the air had gotten colder as the realisation dawned upon him:</p><p>It was all over between them.</p><p> </p><p>­_</p><p> </p><p>Walks by Little Venice had usually been done to pick Yeosang up for a meal, to wait for the elder so they could walk together to university, or to invite him to stay round his for the day.</p><p>Now, all that Wooyoung was around in Little Venice for was for Areum.</p><p>It was Saturday, the month December having approached the country with a chilly wind caressing the bodies of people who were covered in long coats, Wooyoung included. He shivered, rubbing his palms together to emit some temperate friction as he lingered by the door of his Yeosang’s house hesitantly. After a moment of consideration, he climbed the couple of stairs, the door getting closer to him by each second.</p><p>Wooyoung let out a longer sigh.</p><p>This moment had been one he had expected by the half of their third year together. He had awaited the agonising day when Yeosang would say goodbye, when he’d let go of Wooyoung’s hesitating self, when he’d get tired of waiting for his proposal: of waiting for him to step up and ask the life-changing question whilst down on one knee and holding a velveteen box gingerly.</p><p>In all honesty, at the age of twenty-five, Wooyoung was reluctant to take such a big step. He was hesitant on asking a question which would reverse his life by 180 degrees, and alter the direction it was headed in. (Albeit, when the imagining of Yeosang waking up in his arms appeared in his mind, a fond smile carved its way upon his features unconsciously.)</p><p>Amidst the door, he could faintly hear a longing bark. <em>Areum</em>, he thought with a sad smile, knocking twice to announce his arrival. Yeosang opened the door after a couple of seconds – it had felt too short for him – stepping in front of him with dull-looking eyes.</p><p>“Hey.” He greeted, voice dropped into a low whisper, and the younger could barely stop himself from pulling him into an embrace.</p><p>“Yeosang. Hi.” He spoke, eyes dropping to the dog, who was gazing between them despondently. Wooyoung wanted to smile – he really did – but the only emotion lingering in his heart was misery, a yearning for the person in front of him, the person he had to let go.</p><p>“Here’s Areum. She hasn’t been eating too much recently. I think she –” Yeosang paused, Wooyoung looking at him expectantly, wishing he continued. “I think she’s feeling poorly.” He finished, and the younger took the dog from the other man’s grasp gingerly.</p><p>“Is that so, Areum? Are you unwell?” He asked, and instead of receiving a bark and a loving lick on the cheek, he was met with silence. Concerned, he glanced back at Yeosang, who attempted to shrug nonchalantly, although he seemed to be aware of the motive behind why their dog was acting so differently compared to before.</p><p>“Do you know why she’s like this?” Wooyoung asked, and he slowly nodded.</p><p>“Yes… I think she’s waiting.”</p><p>“Waiting? For what?”</p><p>Yeosang smiled, the curve not meeting his eyes. “For something unlikely to happen.”</p><p>And then he bid goodbye, closing the white door. All Wooyoung was left relinquishing in was solitude, the cool wind knifing his shoulder, and the wrenchingly miserable howl from Areum, which only broke his heart further than it already was.</p><p>She was waiting for them two to be together once more.</p><p>(And so was he.)</p><p> </p><p>_</p><p> </p><p>Arriving at his apartment just with Areum sprawled across the passenger seat was peculiar – an entirely new concept to him. The CD Yeosang had gifted him upon their sixth month anniversary was playing, a melody all too familiar to him reverberating through the vehicle’s speakers quietly. Once parking his car in the car park of his apartment building, Wooyoung allowed his head to fall on the head rest.</p><p>His fingers grasped the volume controller, rapidly switching it to mute as he allowed himself to think. A decision like this had been done so abruptly, so rapidly that he hadn’t even processed it properly. Albeit waiting for the moment to occur, not expectantly but painfully, it was still unexpected for Wooyoung to not call Yeosang his anymore.</p><p>The idea of their friendship was diminished into an awkwardness so unfamiliar to him, so strange that even seeing Areum blossomed an ache within his ribcage. Nonetheless, he adored the dog – he treasured it with every atom within him – so he had to take care of her, to see her as much as he could.</p><p>“Let’s go inside Areum, okay?” He murmured as he caressed the dog, patting its fur with adoration. He gazed expectantly at her expectant eyes, and he laughed softly. “Of course I’ll get you some food, silly.”</p><p>And then she barked joyfully. In his eyes, it was like the old times, just without a string to hold the three of them permanently together, happily so.</p><p> </p><p>_</p><p> </p><p>And that’s how the next two Saturdays go along. Wooyoung waits by Yeosang’s door before mustering the courage to knock, he opens (barely muting himself from murmuring a ‘come inside?’) and hands him Areum ever so gently, and he leaves with no further words said.</p><p>Until one particular morning when he comes by, and then the precipitation of the clouds cascades upon him as an angel’s tears would – gracefully, as a tango executed by faeries. Yeosang hurriedly takes his palm and invites him in, taking off his coat as he takes his shoes off with his feet, and he sits him on the couch.</p><p>As he heads to take a towel, he takes a look over his shoulder at the man he once called his. Wooyoung’s sitting quietly, shoulders cowered as his palms rub against his forearms to keep himself warm. It reminds him of the day he ended it all, how he left the younger’s house with pursed lips, palms running alongside his forearms in an half-hearted attempt to keep himself warm from the spine-chillingly freezing breeze that evening.</p><p>Yeosang thinks it’s a cyclical structure, a bead of hope transplanting itself into his arteries, a smile blooming on his face when he grasps a charcoal toned towel tightly.</p><p>“Wooyoung,” he speaks when he enters the living room, “why don’t you turn the telly on?”</p><p>The younger spins to look at him, chiselled facial structure appearing as handsome to him as in the day he first encountered him. Wooyoung Jung was a charmer ever since his childhood, his mum having shown Yeosang well-taken Polaroid photographs of her family with a soft chuckle. Yeosang wonders if Wooyoung had told his parents of their breakup. He wonders what their opinion is if actually he did, and the sentiment of wanting to revert back time and work their issue returns within him at maximum speed.</p><p>With a tinge of hope, he reminds himself that there is a possibility he could. All he needs is a hint of bravery, a hint of sophistication like the one he had when talking to him at that party, and a hint of optimism that he’d like to give them a second chance.</p><p>“Oh.” Wooyoung whispers, and Yeosang smiles to himself when the younger’s cheeks tint pink. “I haven’t thought about that.”</p><p>He laughs. “Go ahead and watch whatever you like. Or you could take a shower whilst I cook you some soup.”</p><p>Wooyoung hums softly, almost silently, and Yeosang turns to head into the kitchen. But before he can, he feels a ginger grasp on his wrist, breath hitching involuntarily as the man speaks. “Yeosang. Thank you.”</p><p>“For what?” He asks, turning slightly to face him. All Wooyoung’s eyes are fixated on is him, observing him, taking in his grateful and thoughtful expression with the optimism he urges himself to possess.</p><p>“For welcoming me in once more.” He replies, pools of honey softening and glimmering with star dust when he murmurs those words. Yeosang can understand the double meaning, the spontaneity he must have mustered so much valour to have in that millisecond – the meaning of him opening up to the other amidst a rainy Saturday at the middle of December, the meaning of him taking a step further after a long break between them.</p><p>“Of course,” he whispers, “I always will, Wooyoung.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>FOUR YEARS PRIOR...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>Yeosang was dressed in a silk noir dress on that evening. It was an encouragement from his best friend at the time, Yunho, who was urging him to find someone special. Yeosang remembers his distinct words:</p><p>“Come on, Yeosang, you can’t <em>still </em>be so shy!”</p><p>Yeosang was a timid man back then – he’d reached the age of adulthood at a pace that seemed way too rapid for him, and his attitude towards everything hadn’t changed the way he thought it would when he reached the aureate age of eighteen. The days still rolled at the same velocity, and nothing really changed when he had to find a decent university to attend.</p><p>Currently, he had his eyes on a Law school.</p><p>The two of them had entered the club with Yunho tugging him in enthusiastically. Immediately, the reverberation of music filled his ears, and he had winced at the loud volume, something he wasn’t used to <em>just </em>yet.</p><p>“Yeosang, can you get me something to drink?” Yunho called, and Yeosang shouted back words of agreement, wandering off to find the bar. Deciding he was not in the mood for dancing so early on – something his lovable best friend adored to do – Yeosang sat himself down at the bar and asked the bartender for two shots of tequila for Yunho, and a Coke for him.</p><p>He was the designated driver for the two of them tonight.</p><p>“Not drinking tonight?” A voice asked, and he turned to find a brunette boy staring at him. Amidst the neon lightning of the bar, he saw mahogany eyes and chiselled features, a sharp jawline contorting his face into one of maturity with a hint of mischief.</p><p>“Not quite. I’m the driver for that friend over there.” He drawled as he pointed at Yunho, who seemed to have the time of his life as he danced on him own, attracting the eyes of a few bystanders near him. Yeosang smiled at his goofy friend, not bothering to hand him the tequila. He reckoned that if he did give Yunho the alcohol, the man’s enthusiasm would shoot up the roof. And he possessed enough energy to last him for hours.</p><p><em>Plus, </em>he was not in the mood for awful hangovers and migraines.</p><p>“Well, he looks like he’s having fun. What about you?” The stranger had asked, his voice soft and smooth yet sending chills down his spine amidst the neon euphoria of their current setting.</p><p>“I’m doing great,” he laughed, “Yeosang.” He introduced himself, awkwardly extending his hand out to him. The man, who was arguably one of the most beautiful men he had ever talked to, regarded him with a subdued laugh. The stars in his eyes were slightly glazed with the filters of alcohol and something he could not define, although he wasn’t intoxicated yet. His speech was not slurred; it was just that his words were embraced by an accent giving him shivers.</p><p>“Wooyoung. Lovely to meet you.”</p><p>Yeosang smiled, slowly taking a gulp of his tequila. Wooyoung, perhaps one of the most entrancing men he had ever encountered in his life, was enthrallingly sensual. His moves, most likely done out of instinct and not for the sole purpose of seducing, were attracting his attention just like a painter finding his inspiring muse: incessantly.</p><p>“Likewise.” He uttered, the traces of the tequila flaming his trachea, making him quietly wince.</p><p>Wooyoung was great, his sense of humour as lovely as him. He revealed that he was there with his group of friends, and he pointed to each of the boys. San, his closest friend, appeared to have the time of his life on the dance floor, engaging in a conversation with a clique of women holding vibrant cocktails in long glasses. Mingi, a tanned man of about 6”0, was in a distant corner, on his phone, holding one hand on his ear to understand better. And lastly, Jongho was stood adjacent to Yunho across the room, the two talking with smiles on their faces.</p><p>Yeosang smiled.</p><p>Yunho looked happy in that conversation. As cheerful as Yunho was, he was the type of person who despised holding long conversations with strangers, which Yeosang heavily related to. One of the reasons why the two connected so much was because of their shyness in public: they both stuck to themselves, instead of socialising, because they feared being judged by others. So, seeing Yunho (and also himself, because he was here, in this spot, talking to Wooyoung) socialise, when not being pushed by someone else to, made Yeosang happy.</p><p>His starry eyes returned to meet Wooyoung’s, smile still etched on his face. To his uttermost surprise, he found the man staring at him with a fervour that struck him. Intensity spilled out of his eyes in forms of honey, saturated and viscous with particles of awe.</p><p>Flirting was not Yeosang’s area of expertise. Yet, Wooyoung’s gaze pushed him to inch his body forwards: to come closer and take a look at him. The man seemed surprised, but he mimicked Yeosang’s action, and their lips brushed as petals of a rose: soft and gentle whilst desiring so much more.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was Yeosang who initiated it; that’s if he remembers correctly. He's making Wooyoung soup, stirring the ingredients in the pot gingerly. The spatula in his hands is warm due to the evaporating water, but he’s far too distracted by his memories to pay close attention.</p><p>They had gotten in a relationship a few months after that; at first, they had experimented with getting to know each other in every meaning possible. Yeosang called kisses a pleasant display of affection towards one another, whereas Wooyoung called holding hands a necessity. The word love was thrown around left and right, until Wooyoung had confessed that he loved him when they were strolling on the beach on the first-year anniversary of their relationship.</p><p>They were always simple: neither of them had wanted to make things too complicated. Wooyoung had always encouraged communication – he believed that a lack of discussion could lead to misunderstandings. (Ironically, the only thing they can’t do now is communicate. Talking to each other feels like a struggle.)</p><p>Wooyoung hums the soundtrack of the TV show he’s watching lackadaisically, gentle voice echoing through the kitchen as a haunting echo, bringing with it some memories of tranquil afternoons spent in <em>Yeosang’s </em>living room, doing the same thing. It doesn’t help that he’s watching the same show the two of them did together, but that’s not Wooyoung’s fault. The show just happens to broadcast at this hour.</p><p>Once the soup is ready, and he’s poured it in a bowl for him, Yeosang feels himself tensing up. Grasping the counters beneath him, he inhales a breath of air shakily, waiting five seconds to exhale in order to calm himself down. Areum’s by his feet, bright brown orbs questioning and blinking every few milliseconds.</p><p>Yeosang crouches down, patting the fur of the puppy softly, coaxing Areum into calming down. The two of them sit like this for a few moments, transfixed into this world without Wooyoung by their side. He still hasn’t picked up his stuff from the younger’s apartment, nor has he asked to. At the moment, both of them seem to be in this stage of denial, knowing they aren’t together but not knowing what the future will hold.</p><p>He realises the soup will get cold. “Come on, Areum, let’s go.”</p><p>When he enters the living room, Wooyoung is not looking at him. His hands are intertwined and turning crimson, yet his head is not instantaneously turning to seek him. Yeosang assumes he’s stopping himself from reaching to him as much as he’s stopping himself to envelop Wooyoung in a hug and never let go. A bond which was once held tightly by nuclear forces of attraction is slowly losing its spark, electrons transferred off the molecule’s shells with no way to stop them from escaping.</p><p>They're nothing but two ions, one covalent and one ionic, unable to bond. While he hasn’t changed, he’s turned back into the timid shell of a human he once was. The soup burns in his palms just as fiercely as his fear of letting Wooyoung go – Yeosang wants him to not step out of his front door and stay here until the morning, whether it’s tomorrow morning or many mornings to come – but he realises that after the storm, Wooyoung’s eyes will most likely meet his and his lips will utter goodbye.</p><p>The only reason why they meet is for Areum.</p><p>The confidence he had before he made the soup is diminishing at the speed of light, and he sets it in front of the younger without a single smile.</p><p>“Thank you...” Wooyoung trails. Even dialogue is awkward between them. Yeosang cannot stand not talking to him – they used to stare at the stars and just breathe once before carrying on conversations for hours – and now, a single phrase of gratitude brings agony in his psyche.</p><p>“Yeosang.” he speaks. Somehow, something as mundane as him saying the elder’s name drowns out all the noise in the background, and Yeosang can do nothing but gaze back at him in question. Wooyoung looks hesitant, but not confused, as if his train of thoughts crosses the depths of his mind too. “Why won’t you sit next to me? Has this... ruined everything we had?”</p><p><em>It hasn’t, </em>he wants to say. <em>It hasn’t ruined anything; we can still be the same. You can still be mine, and I can still be yours. </em>But all that envelops around them is silence because he knows that everything’s changed now. Every memory remaining through the open cracks of his heart is part of the past, and not the present.</p><p>This divide between them is defined as the <em>past, </em>and it led to the creation of a wall he’s found impossible to cross over. It's towering over him, and beyond it he can see destruction, a lack of nature and spring fields occupying the land. Instead, all that’s left is sand, shards of glass not even transparent, but shaded golden with age.</p><p>“Our relationship has changed, Wooyoung... and as much as I wish it weren’t, my actions led to this. I was the one who wanted something different, I was the one who thought we can remain as friends after the breakup. I guess I just realised that there’s just a matter of time left before we become strangers.”</p><p>At the last word, Wooyoung winces. “Strangers?”</p><p>“Pretty much.” Yeosang whispers. He can feel the transition of his eyes becoming glassy, yet shock overpowers the urge to sob when Wooyoung grasps his palms within his calloused ones gingerly, holding them in his. His thumb fondles the epidermis, reminding Yeosang of their serene mornings spent together, when all they’d worry about is simple facts like not getting enough sleep.</p><p>Not about time. Not about being apart.</p><p>“You know we’ll never be strangers, Yeosang. I won’t allow myself to distance myself too much. It'll hurt me even more if we end up not seeing each other at all.”</p><p>Yeosang nods because he knows he will. Wooyoung’s not the type of person to break bonds with people; he’s usually the one left behind, left to collect the pieces of his own heart despite always being concerned for others. Yeosang always promised himself to never leave him behind, but he realises that the breakup had done just that: it had left him confused and alone, much like always.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” He whispers, before the droplets of aqua escape from the rivers of his honey coloured orbs and he begins sobbing. Wooyoung's first instinct is to pick him in his arms, running a hand through his ivory tresses of hair in an action of comfort. “I’m so sorry, Wooyoung.”</p><p>“It’s okay, Yeosang. We’ll be okay.”</p><p>Somewhere between that promise, he knows that the word <em>together </em>is hidden. And he smiles.</p><p>Because being with Wooyoung is the only comfort he will ever need.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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